


A Little Bit Naughty

by princessdarthvader



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Gen, Logan centric, Lots of musical references, Matilda au, No pairings because theyre actually children, Set in the universe of Matilda, The legal system is mostly useless, Think like Matilda but a little more angsty, as in i go into a little more detail abt the whole situation, as in the kids book, or the musical because I remember that better, possible ooc
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-06-09 06:39:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 18,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15261600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princessdarthvader/pseuds/princessdarthvader
Summary: Logan's parents have called him some terrible things. The truth is, he's a genius, and they're the stupid ones. Logan is determined to get his own back, and soon discovers he has a special power. With the help of his closest friends and some helpful grown-ups, Logan must unearth a secret far larger than himself in order to right the atrocities committed against him and change his story for good.Strap in, folks. It's the Matilda! AU that no-one asked for.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Matilda itself wasn't necessarily written to portray children accurately, so dont @ me folks kids are hard to write and everything in the world of Matilda is exaggerated anyway.

Logan Wormwood loved to read. That was an understatement, in fact. Logan Wormwood didn’t simply love to read. He _lived_ to read. And he was good at it, as well! When he was just a year and a half, he was able to hold full conversations, displaying vocabulary skills that almost matched those of an average teenager. By three, he could be found reading the newspaper, discovering more about his world than anyone his age ought to. Then, by the age of three and a half, Logan no longer found the news as gripping as he once did. He wanted more to read, yet he had difficulty finding them in his house. His parents despised such things. They abhorred their son’s fixation on books and learning.

The Wormwood family, instead of reading, would spend their evenings sitting in front of the telly, eating microwaveable dinners, silent and absent minded. They were cruel and neglectful. They would always tell Logan that they hadn’t wanted a little boy. They’d wanted a girl, to dress up and give dance lessons to and make pretty. Instead, they had Logan, who was utterly unremarkable in every way. Logan hated his family. He hated being teased and taunted for the conditions of his birth. He hated microwaveable meals. He’d wanted to learn how to cook, but he dared not speak against it. He’d tried once before, when he had just begun to read. He’d asked his father to help him learn. He’d spoken over the game show they were watching.

Logan would never forget the terror he’d felt at that moment.

So no, he’d learned not to complain. He sat quietly, hoping to escape as soon as possible once he’d finished his dinner, allowing himself to escape upstairs and return to the fantastical worlds contained within his books. He'd read his father's old and forgotten law books, buried away in the computer room from years of unuse, and the books his brother had been told to read for school. He'd read his mother's celebrity magazines and the labels on everything he could find. But soon, the Wormwood house, so simple and unintellectual, had run out of new things for Logan to read. He’d tried to reread them, again and again, but it simply wasn’t the same when you weren’t experiencing it the first time.

And so, at four years old, Logan Wormwood could be found, toddling his tiny body along the big main road, all by himself, to go visit the library. The librarian, Emile, was surprised by the visit from such a tiny individual. He looked around, trying to find the boy’s parents, but there was no one in sight.

“Hey there, little man,” he had greeted, bending down to the height of the young child. “Are your parents around.”

Logan shook his head.

Emile held a hand out for Logan to take. “Do you need help finding them?”

Logan shook his head again.

Emile quirked an eyebrow up. “Then how’d you get here?”

“I walked,” Logan replied nonchalantly. “Please sir, do you have any books?”

Emile’s face broke into a smile. “Of course we have books!” He exclaimed. “Look around you! We’ve got all the books you could want!”

Logan beamed. It was an adorable, genuine smile, that made Emile’s heart leap for joy.

“What kind of books do you enjoy?” Emile asked. “I can lead you to our kids section. There are lots of books suitable for your age there!”

Logan nodded. “I would like that very much, thank you!” He replied, grabbing Emile’s hand and letting him lead him to the kids section.

Emile sat him down on a little couch. Logan appreciated the way the couch was tailored to his tiny body. It felt more comfortable than sitting in his room against the door huddled over the paper, craning an ear out for the sounds of a parent coming up to his room. Emile brought him a small pile of books, and Logan devoured them hungrily.

He read them all, his eyes shining at the new stimuli. Every books he read was something new. Something different. He liked the way they all interacted with each other. He liked the plots, the characters. It was far more interesting than the news, at the very least.

Emile was, frankly, shocked at the rate with which Logan read. He’d been working at the library for years, and never before had he seem a child read so quickly, and be so enchanted by the stories. He could barely believe it when he felt a small tug at the back of his pants after only half an hour, to reveal Logan saying he’d finished the pile. Emile had brought him more and more, transfixed on the way the tiny child greedily studied the books.

And every day, Logan returned. Emile would take him over to the seat, bring him books, and Logan would read, sometimes for hours before Emile made him leave before it was dark. It wasn’t long before Emile could no longer find anymore age appropriate books for Logan to read.

“Now this one may be a little harder to read,” he explained, finally dipping into his young adult content. “Remember, you can always come to me if you have any trouble, and I’d be happy to help you out.”

Logan nodded his tiny head, and began to read. Emile was somehow still surprised every time he turned to Logan, somehow dipping well into the pile of books for those far older than him. Emile made a mental note to ask the boy’s parents how he’d learned to read so well as he continued about his day.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emile Picani finds himself increasingly worried about the young, bright child who regularly visits his library.

Logan progressed quickly through the reading levels, pausing occasionally to look up some words in the dictionary Emile had eventually provided him (context clues could only offer so much). Soon enough he was onto adult books. Emile couldn’t believe it. Logan would sometimes come in the mornings and stay all day until Emile finally made him go home. Sometimes, he would seem more apprehensive about asking. Sometimes he’d come, staring at the floor and pulling at the sleeves of the cardigan he was wearing. Sometimes he’d come practically bounding in, and Emile would have to remind him that he wasn’t allowed to run. The one thing he never did, though, was come with parents. It worried Emile to no end. Every day when he sent Logan home, he would watch through the window as he crossed the busy street, such a tiny body looking so out of place among the clutter and bustle of everyday life. He always spent an undue amount of time worrying to himself about the probability that Logan would return the next morning.

And Logan always did, only to plunge himself into the world of fiction with more fervour as the previous day.

Logan was reading a longer book today. It was the longest book Emile had given him so far by a long while. He watched as Logan’s eyes scanned the page. Long after everyone else had left. Emile was acutely aware that it would be dark soon, and there was no way he would allow Logan to go home by himself after night had fallen.

“Logan,” Emile wandered over, kneeling beside the child, who looked up after a moment, a trace of apprehension in his eyes.

“Have I done something wrong?” Logan asked, his fingers rubbing against the page in a repetitive manner, as he looked around for something he might have messed up.

Emile shook his head. “Oh, heavens, no!” He laughed. “I just wanted to let you know I’m going to be closing soon, and it will be dark, so it’s probably around time you go home.”

Logan’s eyes got wider for a moment before looking down at his page. “But I’m not finished yet!” He remarked, his tone shocked and unsure. “And I can’t come in over the weekend because you’re closed. And I-I start school next week, so I don’t know when I’ll be able to come back, and I’m so terribly interested in seeing how it ends.”

Emile glanced down at the cover of Logan’s book. _Les Miserables_. _Not well_ , he supplied mentally.

He forced himself to glance back at Logan, whose wide eyes peered back at him.

“Why don’t you borrow the book from us?” Emile asked. “That way, you can take it home and finish it there, and bring it back next week, once you’ve started school.”

Logan’s eyebrows furrowed with confusion. “Borrow it?” He asked quietly. “I can take it home?”

Emile laughed. “Yeah, of course you can!” He replied. “You can borrow up to four books at once, as long as you return them within two weeks! Then you get to take them home and read them whenever you want!”

Emile saw excitement spread through Logan’s face, and quickly helped him check out _Les Miserables_ , as long as the two dictionaries he was using to help him understand the book. Emile handed the pile of heavy books to Logan, who held them close to his chest, his eyes barely poking out over the top of the pile. Emile could barely contain the grin that spread over his face. Logan was just so unbelievably young, that seeing him carrying such thick books was the most curious juxtaposition.

“Do you need help carrying them home?” Emile asked. “They look pretty visually obstructive, and I wouldn’t want you getting distracted while crossing the road.”

"Obstructive?" Logan thought of the word for a minute. "Adjective. Causing a blockage or obstruction."

Emile nodded. "I mean, how much can you see over them?"

Logan thought for a moment before nodding. That was something Emile had learned to get used to. Logan would rarely speak, unless it was necessary. He was a quiet, yet extraordinarily bright kid. Emile smiled, taking the pile from Logan, which fit much more securely under his arm, and holding Logan’s hand with his other.

“So, little guy, what do your parents do for a living?” Emile asked as they waited for the lights to change.

Logan was quiet for a moment before he replied. “My dad’s a lawyer. My mom’s an aspiring dancer.”

“Aspiring?” Emile raised an eyebrow. “Why do you say that?”

Logan glanced up at him. “Aspiring; adjective: directing one's hopes or ambitions towards becoming a specified type of person.” He recited in clarification, tilting his head with a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

Emile laughed slightly. “I know what aspiring means, of course,” he smiled. “Why is she an aspiring dancer?”

Logan blushed and glanced at the floor. “She’s… between the two of us… she’s suboptimal.”

Emile chuckled, gripping Logan’s hand tighter as they began to cross the road. “I won’t tell her you said that, I promise.”

Logan smiled, and they continued to walk in silence for a while.

“You said you were starting school on Monday?” Emile asked.

Logan nodded.

“Are you nervous?”

Logan glanced up. “Should I be?”

“You?” Emile raised an eyebrow. “Not remotely. You’ll probably be pushed straight up to sixth grade when they realise how gifted you are.”

Logan blushed slightly. “Thank you,” he replied, counting the cracks as he stepped over them carefully.

They eventually arrive to the Wormwood house, and Emile handed Logan’s books back to him and stepped towards the door. Logan’s eyes widened quickly. “No, it’s okay!” He insisted, jumping to fill the space between Emile and the door. “You should be going back to the library!”

“Logan, it’s really no problem for me to just-” Emile was cut off by Logan pushing him back.

“You must be very busy,” he insisted. “And I am home now. I appreciate your company, but it is unnecessary from this point.”

Emile glanced at Logan, then at the house, and heaved a sigh. “Okay, Logan,” he finally nodded. “I’ll see you next week, then?”

Logan nodded, noticeably relieved, his books tightly held to his chest. Emile left grudgingly, making a special note to keep an eye on Logan when he was able to.

Logan made his way up to his room, slowly, silently, careful not to draw attention to himself as he slipped the books into his drawers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured I should post another chapter while this fic is fresh in my mind. It's a little slow getting to action, but I wanted to give it some time to work up to it. The other sides will be introduced soon!
> 
> I can't guarantee "a chapter a day" is a routine that will remotely stick, but while I can, I figure it's worth posting the chapters i've pre-written, right??
> 
> Also I love Emile and librarian Emile is the purest thing I could think of plz enjoy


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Logan's first day at school introduces him to some exuberant students one may call 'friends'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a little longer because chapter length consistency? I don't know her.

The next week, Logan started school. He’d been excited for it since he’d first heard of it. Learning, education. He loved the thought of it. With teachers and other kids his age, each of them as smart as him.

But as he walked downstairs for breakfast, he was met with a malicious smile as he sat down, waiting for his toast to cook.

“Don’t look so cheery, girl,” his father scoffed. Logan frowned.

“I’m not a girl,” he insisted, looking down at his clothes.

“With that get up, you might as well be,” his father laughed. “No son of mine is wearing colours to his first day at school like some sort of… dysfunctional gay embarrassment.”

Logan glanced at the green t-shirt he was wearing. “These are my clothes.”

“And you’re changing them before you leave. Up.” His father barked. Logan sighed and stood up, returning to his room before choosing a much more neutral black shirt. His books, stowed away in his backpack, were quickly joined by a blue tie. He didn’t want to be in all black, after all.

He finally returned back downstairs to where his now burnt toast lay in the toaster, blackening. Not wanting to make another slice, he begrudgingly pulled the toast out and began to scrape off the burnt bits with a knife. His mother and older brother had now joined the room.

“Oh heavens! You’re not planning on wearing those glasses today, are you?” His mother exclaimed.

“I need them to see,” Logan replied.

“‘I need them to see’,” His mother mocked in reply. “Can’t you wear contacts, or something? Those thick frames are horrendously unflattering.”

Logan sat down at a chair with his plain slice of toast. “I don’t own any contacts,” he replied. “I didn’t know I was supposed to.”

His mother scowled at him, before sighing. “Oh well, I guess some people are just too stupid to understand the art of fashion.”

Logan stared down at the table. He wanted to leave. He wanted to escape so he could get to school as soon as possible, where people would be nice to him.

“I know your headmistress,” his father remarked out of nowhere. “She was a client of mine a little while ago. Just last week I saw her. So I tell her to keep an eye on you. Your tendency to chit chat about God knows what, pretending you’re all smart and stuff wont get you anywhere, I tell ya,” he explained. “And she’s harsh, but fair, I’d say. Doles out punishments that fit the crime. No one wants a noisy little know-it-all makin’ ‘em think they’re dumb and stuff. So watch that ever-flapping mouth o’ yours.”

“Yes, sir,” Logan mumbled quietly. He couldn’t stomach his breakfast anymore. Nerves had settled in his stomach. What if they were right? What if school wouldn’t work out for him? If he really was just a noisy chatter-box. What if he deserved to be punished?

The table chatter dissolved into idle conversation about his brother’s great achievements. Logan watched Michael absently eat his breakfast as their dad tried to talk him through the day’s plans, and eventually, he was off. He wouldn’t let either of his parents pick his bag up. He knew they would be suspicious of the weight, and he didn’t want to get in trouble. By the time he reached school, his back was hurting, and he slumped against a wall, waiting for the bell to ring so they could finally meet their teachers. He pulled out his book and quietly began to read, hoping that, eventually, his dad would be proven wrong.

All too soon, he was pulled from his book by a sudden voice directly beside him.

_“Do you hear the people sing? Singing the song of angry men?”_ Another child his age sang at him, their face stretched into a wide grin. _“It is the music of a people who will not be slaves again!”_

Logan glanced to him in confusion. “Can I help you?”

“Les Mis!” He insisted, as though it offered any semblance of clarification.

“Les Misérables is the book I’m reading, yes,” Logan tried again. “Why are you singing at me?”

The other child groaned. “Like, the musical, genius!” He frowned. “Don’t you even _know_ the musical? Psh!”

Logan was utterly bewildered as to what the other child was referring to. He hadn’t recalled any references to musicals or singing within the book…

“I’m only halfway through, unfortunately,” Logan remarked, looking down at the book. “If you’re making a reference I don’t understand yet, I apologise.”

The other child laughed. “Only nerds read,” he insisted. “I’m talking of the joy of theatre! If you haven’t seen the musical, you have to!”

Logan was saved from having to respond by another student running up to the two of them. This student wore a bright smile on his face, his springy light brown hair bouncing with his movement as he approached the others.

“Oh! Roman have you found another friend! Hi friend! I’m Patton!” He spoke incredibly quickly, bouncing between phrases seemingly randomly. Logan blinked.

“I was reading,” he replied, unsure how else to respond.

“OOH!” Patton exclaimed in excitement. “What are you reading?”

“Les Misérables,” Logan replied with a nod. “By Victor Hugo. Have you read it?”

“Nope!” Patton replied happily. “I can’t read.”

Logan was shocked. “What do you mean?”

Patton shrugged. “I haven’t learned to read yet. Not properly, anyways! I can spell my name though! P-A-T-T… A-N!”

“Are you sure it’s not O-N?” Logan suggested on a whim.

“Oh yeah!” Patton grinned. “Wow, you’re like, _really_ smart! Wanna be my best friend?”

Logan was taken aback by the offer. Luckily, he didn’t need to answer, instead being interrupted by Roman again. “I thought you said _I_ was your best friend!”

Patton gasped with exuberance. “You can both be! I can be best friends with you and Virgil AND… what was your name?”

“Logan,” Logan replied.

“Cool!” Patton exclaimed. “Come on, best friend! Let’s all go say hi to Virgil! He’s shy, apparently. That’s what my papa told me!”

Logan hesitated for a moment. “If he’s shy, should we not… give him space?”

But Patton was already pulling him over to another child, who wore a hoodie and was sitting against a corner, looking around uncertainly.

“Hello Virgil! This is Logan!” Patton explained loudly. “He likes reading and knows how to spell!”

Virgil nodded up at him, barely moving from his position of being pressed tightly against the wall.

“Greetings,” Logan waved formally. “I do not believe Patton understands the meaning of the word ‘shy’, and I hope our intrusion doesn’t alarm you.”

Virgil offered him a faint smile, but the two of them were interrupted by a taller figure marching over to them.

“Ooh! New meat!” Someone much older than them grinned. “You guys just starting?”

Patton, trustful and extroverted nodded with a grin. “My papa said school is gonna be super fun and I’m gonna learn things like the albaphet, and numbers and science!”

The older kid scoffed. “Not here, kid,” he smirked. “This here’s a jail you ain’t ever gonna escape.”

“A prince can eks-cape anything he wants!” Roman spoke up, stepping in front of his friends protectively. “Nobody in the world can stop me!”

The older kid bent down to Roman’s level and grabbed his tiny hands. “You think that’ll make any difference, _punk_?”

Roman took a small step backwards. Logan noticed his hands shaking. The other kid laughed. “I’m just trying to warn you about what’s to come. Just wait ’til you meet The Bull.”

Patton and Virgil’s eyes were wide and terrified, Roman seemed at loss for words, and Logan found himself caught in an uncomfortable position wherein the only thing he could think to do was the unthinkable. He stepped between Roman and the older kid.

“If you think that the four of us are going to be intimidated by some… uncastrated male bovine creature, then you must be utterly clueless as to the going-ons of the world around you. Whatever this Bull may be, I don’t believe that they could truly outperform Patton or Roman if their confidence is anything to go by. And anyway, why not tyrannise someone your own age? Just because we’re little doesn’t mean we’ll conform to what _you_ say.”

The older student paled in surprise, taking an uncertain step backwards. “How…?” he mumbled, but the bell rang. Logan watched as he quickly left to go to class, and turned around, satisfied, to his fellow students.

What he didn’t expect was the range of expressions from delight and awe on Patton’s part to utter terror on Virgil’s.

“What?” he asked.

“How did you… do that?” Virgil asked, incredulous.

Logan cocked a head to the side. “What do you mean? I just told him the truth?”

Patton’s wide eyed awe turned into a gleeful giggle, which spread to Roman quickly enough.

“That was AWESOME!” Roman exclaimed with a squeal. “Did you see his face? Just he was just BAM! Taken DOWN!”

Logan chuckled slightly at the praise. “Hm, yes, indeed. Us little kids should stick together. If we sit around and let them push us around, we imply that it’s okay, and that’s not right!”

Roman gleefully grabbed the others’ hands, skipping through the school as he sang. “ _Little people know, when little people fight, we may look easy pickings, but we got some-”_

Roman’s singing ceased when he bumped into a tall man wearing light coloured jeans. He looked up at him in fear, but the man smiled down at him. “Oh, hello! You must be some of the new kindergarteners! Are you having trouble finding your way to class? Let me show you how to get there! Come, boys. Follow me.”

Patton, Roman, Virgil and Logan looked uncertainly between each other. The man looked back in confusion for a moment before smiling. “Oh, you mustn’t worry,” he insisted. “I’m Mr Sanders. I’ll be your teacher this year!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the boys r together!!! I have abt six chapters written at this point so I'm hopinh to spread that out so that by the time i post the sixth I've written at least enough to keep it consistent-ish, but writing is hard and I'm currently fairly deep into rehearsals for a musical so just bear with.  
> And if you think that Les Mis is too mature a musical for a five year old Roman to know so much about,,, you're probably right but y'know he's a theatre boy and will 100% play the cutest Gavroche ever in a couple years time so fight me  
> look at all the shameless musical references in this chapter! wow r there more to come bc all i know is musicals who knew !!!!!! wau


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rumours fly and tales abound about the true nature of the staff at Crunchem Hall Elementary School.

Mr Sanders leads them to a room where other children are sitting about, waiting for their teacher. The four of them chose to sit towards the back in a row. As Mr Sanders surveyed the room, his eyes fell on the tower of books that obscured the boy from his vision and he raised an eyebrow.

“Welcome, kindergarten!” Mr Sanders greeted, with a big smile etched across his face. “I greet you to your first day of school with open, friendly arms, and assure you that within these walls,” he gestured around the room, “there is nothing to be ashamed or afraid of. I know you’re going to _love_ school, and I will do everything in my power to make this classroom a safe and supportive environment for every single one of you, no matter what oppressive forces may threaten us!”

Some child at the back’s hand shot up. “Yes, Terrence?”

“What does ombretsive mean?” he asked, rocking back where he sat with his feet perfectly tucked under his knees. Logan glanced at the position he was in and tentatively mimicked him.

“It’s ‘oppressive’. It means ‘inflicting harsh and authoritarian treatment’,” Logan replied unthinkingly. “It can also mean ‘close and sultry’, but contextually, I doubt that’s what Mr Sanders is referring to.”

The eyes of the whole class turned to him in shock. Logan realised with a start that Mr Sanders was included in that.

“I’m sorry,” he quietened slightly, curling in on himself. “I shouldn’t have spoken out of turn.”

_No-one wants a nosy little know-it-all making them think they’re dumb and stuff_ , his father’s voice reminded him. _Watch that ever-flapping mouth of yours._

“That’s… right, Logan,” Mr Sanders finally remarked, snapping out of his momentary shock. “Where’d you learn that?”

Logan blinked. He wasn’t getting yelled at? But he’d spoken out of turn. He’d corrected someone. He’d answered a question he had no right to answer. “The… dictionary,” he replied, dumbfounded. “I can’t remember where I first read it, but I didn’t know what it meant, so I… looked it up.”

He watched Mr Sanders carefully, wary of any sudden movements. He almost held his breath as Mr Sanders smiled and nodded, before turning back to the class.

“While Logan is completely correct,” he explained. “For those of you who may not have understood the dictionary definition, it means people or places that won’t let you do the things you want to do ever, and are mean about it in general.”

Logan wrapped his arms around his knees. He hated being corrected. He still could hardly believe Mr Sanders hadn’t gotten angry at him. Mr Sanders had continued speaking, and Logan knew he should be listening, but he couldn’t get himself to focus on anything but the echoes of his father’s shouting.

_“Logan,”_ Mr Sanders’ voice pierced through his haze. His father never called him his name. He blinked a few times and looked up. Everyone had moved to the desks spread around the room. Logan’s eyes widened, and he stood up quickly.

“Sorry, Mr Sanders!” He breathed out, picking up his bag and his books. “I wasn’t focused. Where should I go? I’m terribly sorry!”

Mr Sanders held his hands out on front of him vaguely. “Settle down, it’s only your first day. You’re nervous, I understand.”

Logan glanced at Mr Sanders’ hands, held out in front of him in a gentle surrender. He breathed out just slightly. “Do we have allocated seats?”

Mr Sanders took just a moment before replying. “I’ve given semi-permanent seating arrangements based on surnames at the moment. They’ll change as the year goes on and friendship circles become more important, but for now you’re sitting next to Virgil Wilson, who is over there by the window.”

Logan nodded, almost dropping his books in his desperation to get to the desk and away from the teacher. He placed his backpack by his seat and his books on his desks, taking up the whole space with the heavy books. Students around the class were chatting excitedly to each other as they showed their neighbours the things they’d brought with them from home.

Mr Sanders slowly got the attention of the whole class. Logan’s neighbour was still hesitant to say anything, but Logan didn’t mind as his eyes skimmed across the pages of _Les Miserables_ with minimal difficulty. Finally, he looked up when the chatter had died down. Everyone in the class was excited, he could tell, and Mr Sanders quickly explained a method of gaining attention that ensured that the class was listening.

The morning passed by with no great events occurring. The class designed name tags for their desks, which they were allowed to decorate themselves. He caught Virgil gazing at his work as he himself slowly worked on his own. Roman delightedly held up a noisily colourful piece over his head, which Mr Sanders then wrote his name on. Patton seemed pleased with his final result, which was erratic and covered in rainbows, dogs and rabbits. Logan glanced at Virgil’s after a while, watching him carefully draw a storm on his card. Logan, unskilled in artistic endeavours, attempted to draw a scene from his favourite novel, _The Murder of Roger Ackroyd_. With every line he drew, however, it was apparent he was unable to accurately portray the events in the novel. Drawing anatomically correct people proved far more difficult to do in person, and he could see that the construction of the piece lacked nuance and was cluttered. Frustrated, he ultimately asked for a new piece of paper, which he instead drew shapes on, taking time to colour them with as much accuracy as he could afford. This took all of their first lesson, and the bell rang, cutting him off. He was pleased to notice that Virgil, with an exquisitely detailed depiction of a storm, was also apprehensive to hand the piece of paper to Mr Sanders, but both eventually prevailed, their tummies grumbling in hunger and preventing them from arguing any longer.

The whole class sat together, which saved both Logan and Virgil from missing out on too much due to their late exit from the classroom. Logan sat beside Patton, who gave him a big smiled before tuning into Roman’s story.

“My brother says that she once _threw_ a first grader over the pointy fence and into the fields on the other side all because her Mom didn’t change her hair!” he gesticulated in an exaggerated, story-telling voice. “She said the long, beautiful braids had to go, and when she didn’t change the braids, the Bull was _furious!”_

The other students looked on with wide, scared eyes. “Who are we talking about?” Logan whispered into the crowd of scared children.

“Ms Trunchbull!” Another student - Joan, Logan believed they were called - filled him in. “Roman says that she has a room where she keeps naughty children! It has glass on the floor and nails on the walls, and its a tiny little box she calls _The Chokey!_ You’re forced to stand for hours because if you sit down you’ll hurt yourself on the spikes!”

“That’s preposterous,” Logan replied easily. “That’s against the law. Teachers can’t do that. It’s abusive, and they’d go to jail.”

“Nuh-uh,” Roman replied knowingly. “He says that she's so rich that they wouldn’t _dare_ arrest her. He says she _owns_ the police!”

Logan cocked his head to the side. “Do you never consider that your brother may simply be lying?”

Roman guffawed. “My brother _never_ lies. Why would he say it if it wasn’t true?”

Logan looked around at the rest of the group, watching on with wide eyes and fearful gazes as Roman continued. They seemed scared by the tales. Logan thought it was ridiculous. A _principal_ physically harming her students. Patton had grabbed onto his arm subconsciously in his terror. Logan shied from the contact.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided against making Deceit Miss Trunchbull because it didn't make sense! Ergo, every mean character is taken pretty much straight from the book with some changes to arcs and backstories here and there (stay tuned!)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mr Sanders is struck by the curious intellect that lies within the tiny home of Logan Wormwood's mind.

Recess ended as quickly as it started, and Mr Sanders brought the students inside to finally begin actually _learning_. Logan was so excited. He’d never been _taught_ before. He’d learned everything by himself. Each student sat in their desks in the room, as Mr Sanders wrote something on the board.

“Can anyone tell me what this says?” he asked, looking around the room.

Logan’s hand shot up, along with a few other students around the class, who raised theirs more tentatively. Mr Sanders eyed him, and turned to Patton, who was grinning widely.

“Patton?” Mr Sanders asked.

Patton leant forwards in his chair. “I think it says… C-ca… caterpillar,” he replied with a confident grin. Mr Sanders’ smile dropped for a moment.

“Well, not quite, but good try, Patton,” he remarked. “And that’s a very good word to know! Anyone else know what it says?”

Some of the other hands that had gone up with Logan’s had fallen slightly at Patton’s unsuccessful attempt to read the sentence on the board.

“Logan?” Mr Sanders asked.

Logan adjusted his glasses. “It says _‘I can read words’_ ,” he replied easily.

Mr Sanders beamed. “Correct!” he exclaimed. “You can get a sticker for that!”

Logan accepted a sticker, and walked back to his desk, blushing slightly. Mr Sanders added some words onto the end of the sentence.

“So, now that we know what the beginning says, can anyone tell me this next part?” Mr Sanders asked. A small child shyly raised their hand from the front.

“Talyn?” Mr Sanders asked.

Talyn paused for a moment. “Words… go to-to… uh, ‘m not sure… to make… s-s…something else?”

“That was a very good try, Talyn,” Mr Sanders grinned, offering Talyn a sticker. The shy child accepted, and Mr Sanders turned back to the class. “A couple of the bigger words were missing from Talyn’s presentation. Now, I know it might be hard, but does anyone think they can fill them in?”

No one put their hand up but Logan. Mr Sanders glanced at the small boy and nodded. “Logan?”

“ _‘Words go together to make sentences’_ ,” he read.

Mr Sanders nodded again. “Who taught you how to read, Logan?” he asked.

“I did,” Logan replied simply.

“You… taught yourself to… read?” Mr Sanders asked.

Logan nodded. “I enjoyed reading when I was little,” he shrugged. “Why?”

Mr Sanders shook his head dismissively. “Oh it’s… nothing. Just, most kids your age don’t… it’s nothing.”

Logan wasn’t sure what to make of the response, but the lesson eventually continued. Mr Sanders took the diagnostic results of the class’ reading comprehension and began to teach them letters. Logan had a hard time concentrating. He remembered reading books that had explained all this before. It didn’t take long for Mr Sanders to notice him not paying attention. As other students began to trace out letters, Mr Sanders approached him.

“Logan? Are you having trouble understanding?” Mr Sanders asked him, kneeling down in front of him. Logan glanced down at the sheet he had finished already.

“No, Sir. I just already know all this. I read a book a while ago that explained the alphabet and I’ve learned a lot of sentences and words that I can write,” Logan replied sheepishly. “Is there anything else I can do?”

Mr Sanders glanced down at the sheet for a moment, looking over the handwriting and answers. “Oh. Well, uh, I don’t have anything else yet, but later today I was planning to give you your spelling words. They were going to be based off this sheet, but it seems you… already know,” Mr Sanders appeared confused. “You said you enjoyed reading?”

Logan nodded, the conversation familiar. “Yes! I’ve been going to the library almost daily since I was young and reading through the library’s catalogue of books! I’m currently reading _Les Miserables_ , but some of the French words are difficult, so I have to have a French dictionary as well, and there are some words that are big and difficult and I don’t know them, so I borrowed a dictionary as well!”

Mr Sanders’ confusion was replaced with a smile. “ _Les Miserables_ is a good choice! Although, I can see there’s probably very little that I can teach you without disrupting the rest of the class, but I’ll allow you to continue reading, if that’s not disappointing for you?”

Logan nodded eagerly. “Yes please! Thank you, sir!”

“I must say, you’re extraordinarily advanced for your age,” Mr Sanders commented. “It’s rare that I find even people my age who have read _Les Miserables_. I’m very curious as to your intellect.”

Logan wasn’t sure how to respond, and instead pulled out his books. He rarely received compliments. “Thank you, sir,” he mumbled meekly.

Mr Sanders glanced him over one more time, in utter defeat as to how this child is so advanced for his age, and returned to wandering the classroom, helping other students out with their spelling and writing.

-

Eventually, that exercise had to finish, and they moved on to numeracy. Mr Sanders didn’t have high hopes for how this would go. In his experience, kindergarteners rarely knew as much about math as they did about reading.

He began by explaining addition to the class. Many of them looked at him blankly. He snatched a glance to Logan, who seemed to have a mind in another place. Mr Sanders wanted to be upset by it, but couldn’t imagine it being particularly harmful to Logan to not be paying attention. He wondered how possible it would be to move him into an older grade.

“Now, after that explanation, can anyone tell me what two plus two must equal?” Mr Sanders prompted, holding two fingers on each hand. “If you have two apples, and I give you another two, how many would you have?”

A few students seemed to be trying to work it out. “Joan?” Mr Sanders asked.

“Two… three…. four?” They asked, counting on their fingers with excessive focus.

“Well done, Joan!” Mr Sanders replied, giving them a sticker. “Now, could you explain to the class how you did that?”

Joan’s eyes went wide. “I… uh… counted.”

Mr Sanders smiled. “Well done!” he repeated. “Does anyone think they can figure out four plus three using the same method?”

As he watched students struggle to count on both hands, Logan’s hand arose from the back. “Logan?”

“Seven,” he replied confidently. “Four plus three equals seven.”

“Correct,” Mr Sanders replied. “How did you work that out?”

Logan seemed to stop for a moment. It was the first time he’d been unsure about how to answer. “I just… knew?” he replied. “Like all laws that govern our universe. The sky is blue, my name is Logan, and four plus three equals seven.”

“Right,” Mr Sanders replied. “Did anyone else get the same answer or a different answer and wants to explain it?”

The lesson continued, with Logan easily answering the questions, despite a slowly increasing difficulty. Mr Sanders gave them a sheet with addition questions on it, and Logan finished it equally as quickly as the spelling sheet. It was then that Mr Sanders grew curious.

“Logan,” he remarked, gaining the class’ attention, and especially the attention of a curious young boy in oversized glasses.

“Yes sir?” Logan asked, his voice quiet and unsure. _Oops. Bad approach._

“Who did you learn mathematics from?” He asked.

 

Logan glanced down. “I uh… didn’t, I don’t think. I just… know it? I don’t think I really learned it from anywhere. It’s just facts. Numbers work together in specific ways. I just… think about it.”

“So how high do you think you can do times tables up to?” Mr Sanders asked, struggling to wrap his head around Logan’s answer.

“Oh, I’m not sure,” he replied honestly. “I would think I can keep going for as long as there are numbers.”

Mr Sanders raised an eyebrow. “What’s two times eight?”

“Sixteen,” Logan replied.

“Two times sixteen?”

“Thirty-two,” Logan replied.

“Four times six?”

“Twenty-four.”

“Thirty-seven times thirteen?” Mr Sanders asked. He felt mildly guilty as soon as he said it. What was he trying to prove? That was difficult mathematics for someone so-

“Four-hundred and eighty-one.”

The class was stunned into silence, which Mr Sanders could honestly say had never happened in his years of kindergarten. Each student was gazing at him, eyes wide, to confirm. He punched the question into his phone’s calculator and felt his jaw drop at the answer.

“Extraordinary,” Mr Sanders replied.

“Really?” Logan asked, his eyes wide.

“Really."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Frankly, imagine being a normal kindergarten teacher going about your day and suddenly this tiny tiny child comes in and they just... know everything. You'd think you were losing your mind tbh


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Logan never engaged much with the ridiculous gossip about the principal of his school. Meeting the 'Bull', though, may change his attitude towards the so-called rumours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if anyone following this work would have been alerted, but the last chapter was edited (I added a chunk that I'd written but couldn't justify making it it's own chapter. So, if you haven't, go read that, I guess.

Logan would be lying if he said he didn't love everything about school. Since their brief encounter with older students on the first day, he hadn’t met anyone who was mean or cruel to him. On the contrary, the small group of friends he’d initially made seemed to fight tooth and nail to keep him from being swamped by other students asking constant questions about how he knew the things he knew and how he knew them. Mr Sanders had quietly granted him permission to read when he finished the assigned work, and Logan enjoyed being able to read openly. Even Roman, he found, was able to discuss some of the things he’d read, although his details had been obscured and replaced with songs and some altered plot points. In short, Logan was at the top of the world. In a few short days, a lonesome child who spent his days at the library had become a well-liked figure among the kindergarten class.

It was on his second Tuesday at school that he first encountered _The Bull._

It was lunchtime, and Logan was sitting under the tree where all kindergarteners had to sit while they ate, when a tall, menacing _figure_ emerged from the office. She had on a pencil skirt and a blazer, and walked in long, slender boots. Logan generally tried to avoid judging people based on limited insight as to their behaviour. But something about how this woman walked informed him that this was the putative 'Bull' he’d been warned about. Logically, he had no reason to fear her, and thus found it frankly ridiculous in the way that Virgil curled behind him in an attempt to shield himself from the stern woman’s eyesight. Everyone around him, it seemed, stiffened in her presence. Logan looked to Mr Sanders for some inkling of sense that the other students seemed to lack, but he, too, seemed frozen in the spot.

“Ooh, new worms!” Miss Trunchbull spotted them and made her way over. Virgil seemed to clutch to Logan in fear, and Logan placed a hand on the scared child’s shoulder. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.”

She stopped just in front of the crowd, surveying the students with a gleeful gaze. “Greetings, maggots. I am Miss Trunchbull, and you’ll do well to respect my authority.”

Miss Trunchbull looked at Virgil, whose face was half buried in Logan’s side. She stepped up to the two of them, towering over. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Logan said nothing as Virgil slowly lifted his face to look at Miss Trunchbull.

“What’s your name?” She snapped at Virgil harshly. Logan could still feel him shaking.

“V-Virgil,” Virgil replied, trying not to catch her eye.

Miss Trunchbull leant closer. Logan could smell her unpleasant breath. “Virgil, then,” she smiled, revealing badly maintained teeth. Her words dripped with sickly sweet, as she leant closer. “You’ll LOOK AT ME WHEN I’M TALKING TO YOU!”

Her voice was deafening in Logan’s ear, and he felt Virgil leap back in fright.

“S-Sorry M-m-miss T-Trunchbull!” he stammered, his eyes wide and trained to Miss Trunchbull.

She stepped back, seemingly satisfied with the results. “I have half a mind to throw you in the Chokey for that. The insolence. The disrespect-”

“Miss Trunchbull, you can’t!” Mr Sanders insisted, stepping up from where he was sitting on duty. “Virgil is just shy. He didn’t mean to disrespect you.”

Miss Trunchbull whipped her head to face him. “Well of course you’re defending him,” she muttered. “Little babies need to grow out of it eventually. I’ll let you off with a warning this time. But if any of you put a toe out of line, I won’t hesitate to throw you all in the Chokey where you belong.”

As she began to walk away, she caught Logan’s eye. “What are _you_ looking at?”

Logan was caught off guard. His instinct told him to deny looking at anything. But a louder part of his brain took over. “At you. Like you told us to,” he replied. “I will gladly look away if you would prefer.”

Miss Trunchbull narrowed her eyes. “Watch that mouth boy. Or you’ll end up like your no-good waste of space father; I give him everything I have, and I get what? Nothing, that’s what!”

She turned on her feet and stomped off, leaving the class of kindergarten students altogether too afraid to say a word. Virgil had slumped onto the ground, and the first sign of movement was Patton rushing to his aid. The children immediately burst into whispering, each of them struck with fear upon their first sighting of Miss Trunchbull. Logan sat by himself as people crowded around Virgil. Logan was idly aware of Mr Sanders leading the panicked child away from the crowd. He was too distracted trying to examine what she had meant. His father had said he had worked with her, but it didn’t seem that Miss Trunchbull was too keen on the result. Logan couldn’t say he blamed her. He’d tried making deals with his father. It never worked out well for him. The chatter subsided, leaving an eerie tension over the group as they attempted to return to their usual lunchtime activities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not gonna lie this chapter was hard to write simply because I just felt so bad for poor little virge in it gosh I'm starting to realise that them being tiny and dealing with all of this is gonna be a load of uncomfortable situations for the tiny children. Anyway, hope you enjoyed (if that's the word i can use for this). It's actually starting to have plot now. What a shock :o


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the wake of Miss Trunchbull's dramatic entry into the life of Logan Wormwood, Logan finds himself unable to relax with the mass of unanswered questions that lay in the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been super busy the past couple days and its taken a heap of energy outta me so fast but I managed to pull this (slightly fragmented) chapter together. Hope u enjoy!!  
> tws for this chapter (i'm putting them here instead of tags because i don't think they're going to be a consistent feature of the story, but just like ideas and fragments):  
> gun mention, war mention, mentions of murder and death, fire mention

Dinner that night felt tense. Physically, it was no different to any other dinner. The Wormwood family quietly gathered around the telly, watching TV shows with gaping plot holes and badly written dialogue. It was a familiar routine at this point. But Logan was still shocked from his earlier encounter with Miss Trunchbull. After lunch, Roman had come up to him and said _I told you so_ to Logan. Logan hadn’t enjoyed being wrong, but it was a fact that he had been. The Bull, it seemed, was just as bad as she had been rumoured to be. And that was a fact that didn’t sit right to Logan. It seemed that school, the place he finally felt he belonged, where he could be with no fear of being yelled at or harassed by adults, could no longer feel that way. Mr Sanders had apologised profusely for what had happened at lunch, and Virgil hadn’t returned from where Mr Sanders had taken him.

Logan couldn’t help but feel suspicious of his father. After what Miss Trunchbull had said, he wanted to know more. But they were currently watching a murder mystery, and trying to change the subject during a murder mystery never worked out well.

“I think it’s the husband,” Mr Wormwood predicted. “It just so happens that he’s always around the child when they go missing. He never has a feasible excuse. And besides, he spend far too much time with the brother in-law for it to be normal. He’s probably trying to get close so that he has a cover.”

Logan waited a moment for anyone else to say something. No one did.

“But he wasn’t even in the city when the child went missing,” Logan remarked quietly, his eyes not moving from the screen. “How could he fake all the scrapbook memories and the plane tickets and the video recounts of his travels just to kidnap a child?”

“What do you mean he wasn’t in the city?” Mr Wormwood seethed. 

Logan chewed on a piece of broccoli. “At the beginning, then the older brother was looking through the scrapbook. There was a page that said _‘L.A. Trip January 14th - February 3rd’_ ,” Logan replied. “And they had the videos of him from his work conference. On the computer, the date appears to be the nineteenth of January. This is backed up with the typical weather patterns in LA, which would point the scene depicted through the window to mid-January.”

“He musta… flown back or something,” Mr Wormwood’s gruff voice insisted.

Logan shrugged. “I think it’s more likely to be the wife,” he mumbled. “Or, less her direct involvement, and more likely the child ran away. The ex-husband is a red herring.”

“Shut up,” Mr Wormwood barked, and Logan obliged. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m the lawyer here. You’re just a kid.”

Logan glanced down at the food he’d barely managed to make a start on. “May I please be excused?” he asked his mother politely.

She waved her hand dismissively, and he took the action to be affirmative in nature, placed his plate by the sink and rushed back up to his room. He wasn’t around for the reveal of the wife’s involvement in the son’s disappearance, but he heard his father boasting through the door. 

“I _told_ you it would be the wife.”

 

Logan read by the light of his torch. Much of the story of _Les Misérables_ was still in a confusing setting for him (he’d tried to do research at the library when he’d last gone, but the French Revolution turned out to be more complex than he’d believed, and all he’d ended up with was a list of non-fiction books to add to his extensive reading list), but he enjoyed the motives of it. He spent much of his time imagining him and his friends as the brave revolutionaries taking on the oppressive forces in their own lives.

Roman would wield a sword, screaming for honour as he ran at Miss Trunchbull. She had a wicked smile on her face, and Logan could practically smell her breath again. The thought reminded him of Virgil, who was sheltered by the chairs and desks and books that had formed a barricade as he fiddled with two sticks in his hand. Logan asked him what he was doing. Virgil explained that he was trying to start a fire that would blow up the enemy base. Logan nodded and found Patton, tending to the wounds of injured revolutionaries. He went to speak but Patton told him not to. Patton told him to be brave. To be the leader they needed. Logan looked around at his fellow kindergarteners. Each of their gazes said the same thing. Logan climbed to the top of the barricade, and stared his father in the eye. It was the two of them now. His father raised a gun.

\--

“Logan!” Patton shook him gently. Logan blinked his eyes open and found he had fallen asleep on the beanbags at the back of the classroom. Mr Sanders had brought in the beanbags to form a silent activity corner for people who finished their work early. He lay beside his book, wide open on the page he was reading, and sat up.

“Patton!” He replied with some confusion. He hadn’t remembered falling asleep. He supposed he wouldn’t, though. He had stayed awake remarkably late the previous night, and he knew the importance of sleep for a young person’s physical and cognitive development.

“You looked like you were having a bad dream,” Patton told him quietly. “I didn’t want you to be scared.”

Logan glanced around himself. Everything was as it had been when he’d arrived that morning. There was no barricade that had been formed, no dramatic wars with him and his peers on the front line. Of course there wasn’t. That was absurd. Children weren’t soldiers. He was disoriented.

“Bad dream?” Logan asked, cocking his head sideways. “That doesn’t sound like me.”

Logan, as far as he knew, had never dreamed. He knew what it was, and how it worked. He’d read about it in books. But the thought of himself _dreaming_ seemed ludicrous at best.

Patton giggled. “Well what else could it be?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooh mysteries all around :0


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mr Sanders visits the Wormwood home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a... weird chapter. I went for uncomfortable comedy but it might be bordering more on uncomfortable. Which isn't incorrect, I guess. Anyway, decide for yourself, I guess  
> i'll do a small cw for minor language - it's probably nothing you wouldn't hear in the musical but if you're sensitive to language just be aware (also a cw for, i guess, sexual undertones. I'm ace so its nothing that's any more explicit than the musical of Matilda, but definitely there)

Thomas Sanders had been very curious about Logan Wormwood since the moment he had heard of him. When Emile had first told him of an extraordinarily bright young child, Thomas had rather amiss as to the specific nature of what Emile was referring to. He imagined the child as seven or eight years old at youngest, a newer into the town, who would be starting at the school for the first time. He imagined a child reading at grades three or four years higher than he was. He imagined a great number of children who each displayed levels of genius quite like Thomas had ever encountered in his years of teaching.

And yet, meeting Logan had surpassed any image he’d had.

He tried so hard to not choose favourites among his students, and technically he hadn’t. Sure, he hadn’t been able to think of anything but Logan Wormwood and his abundant knowledge for a week, but that didn’t mean he _liked_ him any more than any of his other students. After all, each of them had skills and characteristics that set them apart.

It was just, Logan was something different. Surely, Thomas reasoned, his parents must understand the sheer mass of intellect that filled Logan’s mind.

And so he tried to convince himself as he approached the Wormwood household. He wasn’t sure how legal what he was doing technically was. The address was recorded in the student records, and Thomas could be certain that Logan would not be home, as Emile had informed him he visited the library every afternoon.

And so, he knocked. And he waited for someone to answer, until finally.

“Who are you?” a voice from behind the door said. He glanced down to see the peephole staring out at him, and took a step back.

“My name is Thomas Sanders. I’m your son’s teacher,” Thomas replied. “I’ve come to discuss some things with you. Not anything bad, for the record. Don’t want you freaking out or anything.”

The door opened quickly, and Thomas was face to face with a woman with her hair tightly wound into hair curlers and sporting an elegant pink dressing gown. “What do you want?”

Thomas smiled at her. “Your son, Logan, has proven himself to be quite an interesting child,” he explained. “I just wanted to discuss some future possibilities for his education with you.”

Mrs Wormwood stepped backwards into a spacious lounge-room and sat on a sofa, petting the space next to her. “Well, I’d love to have you,” she replied, throwing a wink his direction.

Thomas felt his face go hot, sitting on the other side of the sofa to her and struggling to maintain a professional appearance. “Well, as you must know, he’s a remarkably bright child,” he began, staring straight ahead at the wall as Mrs Wormwood lay back on the couch dramatically.

“He certainly thinks he is,” Mrs Wormwood scorned. “What with all his ‘reading’ nonsense.” She laughed shrilly. Thomas pressed further to the far end of the couch and rubbed his ear at the piercing sound. “But y’know, he’s no good where it really matters.”

“Which is?” Thomas asked uncomfortably.

“Looks, of course!” Mrs Wormwood perked up and turned to Thomas, leaning over him on the couch. “That kid has never put an effort into looking his best. Have you _seen_ his knobbly little knees? I told him that his glasses didn’t suit him, but did he do anything about it? No!”

Thomas was utterly befuddled, and extremely uncomfortable with the way Mrs Wormwood seemed to be so… physical. “I’m sorry, Mrs Wormwood, but I don’t think I quite understand,” he inferred, standing up and finding another sofa to sit at without her. “Do you believe his… physical appearance is the most important aspect of his capabilities as a human?”

“Well, duh,” Mrs Wormwood replied loudly. “It’s _shameful_ the things his father lets him get away with wearing,” she scoffed. “Clearly he came up short in the genetic lottery.”

Thomas blinked. “Just to be clear, you’re aware that we’re talking about your five year old son, Logan, who displays literacy and numeracy skills that are far more advanced than any of his peers.”

“Oh shush,” Mrs Wormwood groaned. “You just talk, talk, talk. No one wants wants to be with someone who uses _big words_ all the time! Just look at the two of us.”

“The two of us?” Thomas asked, regretting visiting the Wormwood house.

Mrs Wormwood nodded. “Of course. I mean, tell me, mister: have you got a girlfriend who treats you right?”

Thomas frowned. “I hardly think that’s-“

“Do you?” Mrs Wormwood’s gaze bore into him.

“Well, no,” he relented. “But that’s not because-”

“See? Told you!” Mrs Wormwood insisted. “No woman wants a man who spends all his time reading books and learning facts and numbers. Loosen up a little. Enjoy life a little more. Who cares if those rotten little children get themselves into trouble?”

Thomas frowned. “Those ‘rotten children’ include your son!” he insisted, straightening his back.

“I know what I said,” she replied nonchalantly. “They whine, and they cry, and you can’t even tell them to get a job, because they’re ‘too young’ or something. Frankly, its unfair. Why should we have to raise some dumb little kid just because some _skank_ couldn’t keep her legs shut?”

“He’s _your_ son!” Thomas insisted, standing up. He hadn’t meant to yell. He didn’t like to yell. Particularly when working with children, he worked hard to keep his act together, but his anxiety was operating in overdrive listening to Mrs Wormwood talk. He couldn’t cope with being ignored anymore. 

Mrs Wormwood glanced over to him. "Oh right. Settle down, over there. It's not like it affects you."

Thomas couldn't deal with it anymore. “I came to ask whether you’d allow me to make a recommendation that Logan skip a few grades to adequately optimise his education,” he pleaded, his heart pounding in his chest trying to manage his own anger. “Please, just tell me whether you’ll allow it or not, and I will leave.”

Mrs Wormwood shrugged. “No point in saying no,” she replied. “I can’t say I’d blame ya. Do what you want.”

Thomas nodded. “Thank you,” he replied, seething. He turned to the door and left without another word, struggling to regulate his breathing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey did u know I hate writing scenes with the Wormwoods or Miss Trunchbull,, like when i started i was like "oh yea that sweet sweet angst" but now i just wanna protect them all lmao someone destroy the mean adults in this family protect the babies i love them


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Logan learns an important lesson about following rules.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a lot sadder and a lot earlier than I intended and I spent a while trying to lighten it up to make the tone shift far less jarring, but I feel it does kinda add a lot to the story to have this chapter like this.  
> Nonetheless, important CWs for child physical abuse and just a bit more overall intensity than i've been including so far

Logan returned home from the library with a new book ( _Frankenstein_ , by Mary Shelley) and a small smile on his face, humming quietly to himself as he approached the driveway. The library was always peaceful to him. He found it really fun to help Emile log books and sort out budgeting and ordering new books. He liked having something to focus his mind on. School was good, of course. He loved Mr Sanders, and Patton and Virgil and even Roman when he wasn’t being excessively boisterous or trying to drag Logan into one of his silly games. But school, he found, often lacked substance. Nothing there tested him. Helping Emile with financial decisions, however, allowed him to use math and research skills. It allowed him to look into the worlds of people older than himself. He could see himself fitting in there, eventually. Once he was older.

It also gave him an opportunity to delay returning home.

It was just before dinnertime, and the Perkinje shift was taking ahold of the colouring of the world. The green of the grass glowed brightly as he trudged down the neatly manicured lawn. The blue tinge to the sky muted the red on their door. He raised a hand and knocked.

His father answered the door and pulled him inside, gripping tightly to his arm. “And _where_ do you think you’ve been?”

“I was at school!” He lied easily. “I was assisting my teacher with his marking.”

“Were you, now?” His father grinned maliciously. “That’s funny.”

“Did I make a joke?” Logan asked, somewhat nervous. He had grown fairly good at lying. He’d never been questioned before. He glanced at his dad, wide eyed and confused.

His father laughed and turned to the other room. “Did you hear that, Arabella? He was at school, helping his _teacher!”_

His father and his mother started laughing, and Logan scanned the room for exits, his father’s grip on his arm becoming more painful with each moment. He cried out in surprise when his father suddenly pulled him closer to his side, almost ripping his arm out of its socket.

“You’re a _damn_ liar!” He growled sternly.

Logan’s teeth gritted in nervousness. “I-I… I don’t know what you-”

“Your teacher came and visited your mother this afternoon!”

Logan felt something inside him freeze as his brain assessed the best options going ahead. “I have… two teachers,” he tried desperately.

He knew it was in vain when his father gripped his chin harshly. Logan could feel his father’s rough hands digging into his tender skin. “Tell me where you really were.”

His voice was low and direct, and Logan cowered. “I… went to the library,” he finally admitted. “I was chatting to Mr Picani. He’s really nice, and we-”

Logan was cut off by a sharp pain in his cheek. He stared up at his father, lost for words.

“The _library?”_ Mr Wormwood growled. “You’ve been polluting your young mind with ‘books’ and nonsense?”

Logan shrunk as far away from his father as he could with the tight grip. “It’s not nonsense!” He tried. “There are so many books! Maybe if you just _tried_ to read them you’d find one you enjoy! Like the one I just finished - _Les Miserables!_ It’s about a made up battle in the French Revolution and has really interesting discussions of the implications of upholding the law over holding compassion and-”

“Don’t you ever SHUT UP?” His father raised, and Logan felt another sharp pain on his cheek. He closed his mouth, blinking back tears. He was better than tears. “Arabella, baby, turn out his bag.”

Logan watched his other step to pull his backpack off his back, struggling against his parents’ grip. His mother held his bag, tilting it upside down so the new book he’d gotten toppled out of it and clattered to the floor. Logan winced at the way the pages crumpled.

_“Frankenstein?”_ His mother shrieked with laughter, picking it up. “Wow, you really are a little _nerd_ , aren’t you?”

Logan clenched his fists as his mother held the book up. “Please. It’s a library book. It doesn’t belong to me!”

His mother shrugged, her shrill cackle piercing through the air. “Well that’ll be your problem to explain, won’t it?”

And Logan shook and stammered as he watched his mother defiantly tear apart the book he had just borrowed page by page. Discarded paper surrounded him as he held in warm tears with shaking breaths.

He dared to glance to his father, who simply shook his head.

“When someone is naughty, they must be punished,” his father told him solemnly.

Logan chewed his lip, feeling the skin break, and only one thought could populate his grief-stricken mind.

_Someone._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm super sorry this chapter took ages. Uni started up again and I didn't want to post this chapter and leave it on a sad note, but then I realised the story of Matilda itself is pretty darn dark and being true to the source material means that from this point onwards the chapters will be much more uncomfortable or unsettling.  
> That said, it means a lot to me if you're reading this story and I'm sorry I find it so difficult to be consistent. I'm working my best on trudging onwards towards the ending and ur support means the world to me tbh  
> No promises on when the next chapter will be out, but I'm hoping for sooner rather than later.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patton isn't sure why Logan seems so distracted and hungry, but he sure has a plan to fix it!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I get anxious about posting late and then decide instead not to post but, like, this is my way. Super sorry

It was obvious to almost anyone the next Monday that Logan was hungry. Patton could hear his stomach rumbling from across the room. He wondered if Logan had eaten breakfast that morning. His Pa had always told him breakfast was the most important meal of the day.

He had a plan. And he knew it was a good one. Patton had a special knack for sniffing out cookies. And because of that, he knew that every morning, a large plate of cookies was delivered to Miss Trunchbull from the school’s kitchen. These cookies were the most delicious smelling cookies he’d ever had the honour of smelling, and he couldn’t imagine what Miss Trunchbull would need a whole plate of cookies for. Patton was only ever allowed to have one, or, if he was behaving well or had particular need, a second one.

Therefore, he decided, Miss Trunchbull was being selfish, keeping all the cookies for herself. And Patton could tell Logan was hungry by the way he watched the clock intently, his hands shaking just slightly as recess ticked closer.

As soon as the bell rang, the class filed out obediently to sit in the playground and eat. But Patton went a different direction.

He felt like a secret spy, finding out private information as he ducked around corners and hid in bushes all the way to Miss Trunchbull’s office. He waited until Miss Trunchbull left to do her usual intimidation of the students around the school, and snuck in as the door closed, finding himself in the vicinity of the giant plate of cookies before him.

Patton was almost overwhelmed with glee. He had never seen _this_ many cookies before in his life! Oh, if he could just… eat a few! No one would know!

No. He had to stay on task. He was getting them for Logan. Logan was hungry, and Patton would fix that.

He pulled out his lunchbox - a bag decorated with characters from _Steven Universe_ \- and began to move some of the cookies into the bag. The pile didn’t look much different once he had finished loading cookies into his lunchbox, and he turned away from the pile and grinned, leaving to go join his friends in the playground.

He watched Logan pull out a lunch that looked sad and loveless. No more that a bland looking sandwich and some fruit. He hear his friend’s stomach rumble, and knew it was his chance.

“Would you like a cookie?” he asked Logan quietly, trying not to get everyone else’s attention.

Logan looked at him in confusion, and Patton opened his lunchbox, revealing the excessive number of cookies inside it.

“Where’d you get so many cookies?” Logan asked, gazing at them in confusion.

Patton beamed and pushed them closer to Logan. “Doesn’t matter. Just eat. You look hungry.”

And he was right. Logan was hungry. And after eating possibly too many cookies for such a small boy to have at once, he offered them back to Patton.

“Thank you,” he smiled, and Patton glowed, munching down on the leftover cookies in his lunchbox.

Patton couldn’t stop grinning all recess as he marvelled at how kind he had been. His dad always said it was important to share and to help your friends. He tried not to think about the stealing that had been involved. What goes around comes around, and Miss Trunchbull was nasty. She didn’t deserve such good cookies. Surely it was up to them to dole out some justice!

But recess finished, and everyone in the school felt their blood run cold when they were called into a special assembly. Students, busying themselves with gossip and curiosity at the event, were tense as they filed into the hall, sitting in precise rows with their spines straight, falling silent as soon as they sat. Miss Trunchbull stood at the front of the stage, looking somehow more displeased and unpleasant than usual.

“I’ve called you here to discuss a matter of great importance,” Miss Trunchbull began, her voice harsh and uninviting. “You see, among this group of maggots, there is a thief.”

Patton shifted uncomfortably in his spot beside Logan. Logan peered over, raising an eyebrow. Patton smiled somewhat nervously and glanced down at his socks, fiddling with the pretty lace that wrapped around his ankles. Logan thought Patton’s lace socks were incredible. He wondered how Patton had ever been able to convince his parents to let him have them.

“You see, earlier today, I was sitting in my office, eagerly awaiting recess time so my favourite cook would bring me my lunch, like she does every day.”

Patton seemed to be more intent on fiddling with his socks now. Logan could faintly see Patton’s hand shaking as he pulled at the pretty lace.

“But then, when I was so rudely called away from my meal by one of your whiney parents who’d asked to speak to _me_ , I returned to find… A crime scene. A mutiny of the highest regard. Such vicious and atrocious thievery will not be tolerated, and I will advise the guilty party to step forwards now to prevent any further action being taken against you and allow all students to return to class.

No one moved a muscle. The silence that rolled over the hall was chilling, no one daring to speak.

Miss Trunchbull smiled to herself. It was an awful smile, harbouring no happiness or sincerity to speak of.

“If no one speaks up, I suppose each of you will have to suffer,” she shrugged, whipping her head around to the crowd. “Starting with… you!” Her finger landed to point at Talyn and she stood a long stride forwards towards the quivering child in the front row.

Almost as soon as Miss Trunchbull had stepped forwards, Patton had stood up. Logan could see his hands shaking as he defiantly drew attention to himself.

“It was me, ma’am,” he insisted finally. “I… I-I-I t-took the c-cookies.”

Miss Trunchbull’s eyes diluted, like a shark who had caught a whiff of blood from a beach sitting miles away. “ _You.”_

Patton’s face paled quickly under Miss Trunchbull’s gaze. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I shouldn’t have done it.”

“Come forward,” Miss Trunchbull insisted quietly. All eyes were focused on Patton’s tiny body as he took a shaky step towards the menacing figure. “Accept your punishment. Like a _man_.”

Logan knew Miss Trunchbull’s tone. He knew her quiet rage. He knew the scowl on her face like the back of her hand. He saw it near daily in his own parents. He knew there was no room for mercy in her gaze.

And he found himself thinking in overdrive. Faster than he ever had before. Logically, he knew his best acts for his own benefit was to stay out of it. Patton would be punished, and all would be in order. That was what he knew to think. Judging objectively.

But Patton would be hurt, and try as he might to deny it, it was his fault Patton was in trouble in the first place. If he hadn’t gotten in trouble, if he hadn’t gone to the library, if he’d hid his hunger _better_ , none of this would’ve happened. As all things were in the end, it was his fault, and there was nothing he could do about it. To say something would get him punished, while doing nothing would hurt Patton. His head burned as he battled internally. He wondered what his father would think. There had to be a way out. There had to be a way out.

He glanced up around the room, watching the world turn slowly as he glanced around the room. The caught a glimpse of a fire alarm.

It seemed that as soon as he noticed it, a loud wailing pierced through his skull. A student near the alarm screamed as the glass shattered, and the fire alarm caterwauled vociferously.

As if the tension built up had instantly broken, students began to stand up and run out of the hall. In the chaos, Logan saw his opportunity and ran to Patton, pulling him to the side as Miss Trunchbull looked around the the fleeing children. Patton looked confused for a moment, but as Logan grabbed his hand, the two locked eyes and darted through the crowd, finding their way into the bushes around the school where they collapsed, exhausted from their sprint.

“Are you okay?” Logan asked. He wasn’t sure if he liked the sound of those words coming from him. They were too soft; too nurturing. _Too feminine_ , his father would say. He was pretty sure he agreed. He wasn’t used to acting so rashly. Who knew how much trouble he’d get into.

“I’m… okay,” Patton replied, stammering slightly. At the sound of his friend’s reassuring, he found himself no longer caring about the possibility of getting in trouble. Or maybe, he supposed, getting in trouble could be worth it.

“What happened?” Patton was still shaking slightly, his breathing fast and uneven, which couldn’t have been helped by their sprint to the bushes.

“I’m…” Logan looked down at his hands. It had to be a coincidence, right? There was no way he could’ve caused this. He was on the other side of the hall. “I’m not sure.”

Patton cocked his head to the side. “You’re not sure?” he asked quietly. “You always have an answer.”

Logan chewed his lip. “I… suppose it was a build up of pressure of some sort that, paired with the probably not industry standard make of the fire alarm, perhaps to do with temperature or heat of some sort that caused it to… shatter.”

It was unconvincing, even to Patton. “Is there anything else it could have been?” he asked, wide eyed.

Logan shook his head. “No. I’m sorry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooooooh and here comes the magic! Next chapter things lighten up a little more and all. I'm trying to balance out the light and whimsical stuff with the much darker and sadder stuff but im not great at that. Anyways, see u next time


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Logan learns some new concepts and gives them a try.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooof im actually really super sorry I didn't post this earlier i got really caught up with stress and uni and then i got a comment yesterday (shoutout to Tyrranodinosaur u the real mvp) reminding me that this fic exists and yes okay time to put effort into this again im ready to kick it into overdrive. Enjoy this light hearted chapter of a nerd learning exactly how to dish out punishments to grown ups.

The two were found after their fire assembly by Roman and Virgil, who had been sent to look for them by Mr Sanders. Apparently, they had determined no apparent cause for the alarm to go off, and the school was buzzing.  
“Miss Trunchbull is pretty pissed, though,” Virgil commented aside.  
“Virgil!” Patton’s stern voice spoke with more volume than he’d managed since the assembly. “You can’t say that word!”  
Virgil snickered. “Still, I think she’ll forget about this by tomorrow, right Logan?”  
Logan nodded, mostly detached from the conversation as he pondered a reason - any reason - that the glass would have smashed.  
“What are we going to do about her?” Roman sighed dramatically. “We can’t let her continue her reign of terror!”  
“Her rain of terror?” Patton looked up, confused.  
Logan rolled his eyes. “Reign of terror, Patton,” he explained. “R-E-I-G-N. It means ‘the period of rule of a monarch.’”  
Patton still looked confused, but nodded nonetheless.  
“Well what are we going to do about it then, specs?” Roman asked.  
The nickname, coined by Roman, had come about after Logan had used the term ‘spectacles’ to describe his glasses. Roman had thought it was so hilarious, for some reason, that he based a nickname on it.  
“Why should we do anything?” Logan asked. “She’s older and bigger than us. It’s not our place to do anything.”  
“What?” Roman cried. “You’re telling me that you - Mr. I-Read-Les-Mis-But-Don’t-Care-About-The-Musical-And-Refuse-To-Go-Over-To-Roman’s-And-Watch-It-Because-I-Don’t-Like-Fun-Or-Entertainment-Or-Any-Of-Those-Good-Things-In-Life-And-”  
“Get on with it,” Virgil intercepted.  
“Not my last name!” Logan insisted.  
Roman paused, insulted at having been interrupted. “Where was I? Oh right,” he muttered. “You believe there’s nothing to be done?”  
Logan felt an accusatory gaze on him. He looked up at Roman, who seemed utterly betrayed. “In my experience,” he began with a small frown. “We don’t get to change anything. We’re young, and our brains aren’t even fully developed. We don’t have rights. No one will take us seriously. Honestly, what would you propose we do to make any sort of change?”  
“I don’t know. You’re the brain in this operation!” Roman insisted. “Just, I don’t know. We could prank her or something. That’s what I always do when my siblings are unfair.”  
“Pranking?” Logan asked. “What on earth are you referring to?”  
The other three fell quiet. “You don’t know that word?” Virgil asked.  
It took Roman a second to fill the stunned silence with a loud laugh. “Wait, really?”  
Logan frowned at being teased. “It’s never come up in anything as far as I can recall,” he replied. “What would one do to ‘prank’ someone?”  
Patton perked up. “We could call her and tell her we’re an ice cream shop!”  
Logan and Virgil shared an uncomfortable look.  
“We’ll get in trouble, though,” Virgil finally complained. “I don’t want us to get in trouble. I’m… afraid of her.”  
“Don’t be silly, Virgil!” Roman gesticulated. “I’ll protect you! Nothing’s gonna harm you, not while I’m around!” He sang quietly before bursting into giggles. “Sometimes you have to break some rules to dish out justice!”  
Logan rolled his eyes. “You don’t even know what justice means.”  
“You’re right! I don’t! But that don’t matter!” Roman insisted. “If we just sit around and take it, nothing will change! Sometimes, breaking a few rules can be a good thing!”  
Then the bell rang for lunch, and the four immediately began to make their ways to their usual lunch area, still working on hiding Patton from the occasional search by Miss Trunchbull.

Logan sat, at home, on his bed, thinking about what Roman had said. He’d never considered rules as something that could be… broken. He tended to work in loopholes. His parents had never explicitly forbidden his from reading, or going to the library. He didn’t like to break rules. His parents had an unspoken, inexplicable rank over him, and treating them with respect was an important social distinction. After all, it was a biological trait in most social species to treat those who are older or unwell with dignity and respect that younger individuals have yet to earn.  
But, his brain strayed to a thought he never in his wildest dreams imagined himself having; what would Roman do?  
Because, well, Roman was… right. In whatever bizarro parallel universe Logan had slipped into, Roman had somehow managed to make sense. Logan thought of the French revolution. They were doing the right thing. Dismantling feudalism in French society had been an important advancement in the social structure of the world. But technically, yes, they had been breaking the rules. It was all such a strange idea to him, and he saw it in all sorts of literature. Stories upon stories of individuals rejecting their birth state, and fighting for a better world.  
Did it not then make sense for Logan to give it a try? He was a boy of science, after all, and hypotheses must be tested.  
He woke up early on Tuesday, before the sun had even risen, and snuck into his bathroom. Every morning, his father claimed the first shower, where he would shampoo his hair. Logan dug around in the cupboard for a moment before he found what he was looking for. He emptied some of his father’s special hair-regrowing shampoo into the sink and uncapped the tub of extra-strength powder bleach. He carefully measured out a large portion of the bleach and poured it into the bottle of shampoo before shaking it until it was the right colour and consistency to pass as normal shampoo.  
And finally, he cleared up his workspace, put the shampoo mixture back into the shower where he found it, and left the bathroom, ready to make breakfast like a good little boy should.  
And then, he waited.

The telltale yell came approximately an hour and thirteen minutes after Logan had left the bathroom. He was eating breakfast quietly when it happened. His father’s yell was punctuated with a loud slamming of the door and his father’s towel figure entering the kitchen, face red and hair platinum blonde.  
Logan held his breath to prevent himself from laughing, earning a sharp glare from his father. He buried his face into his bowl of cornflakes.  
“STOP LEAVING YOUR BLEACH WHERE I CAN DAMN USE IT, WOMAN!” His father screamed to his mother.  
“I didn’t,” his mother bit back. “Why not try looking at the bottles before pouring them all over your hair?”  
His father huffed. “Don’t get sharp with me!” he bellowed. “How will I go to work with my hair looking like this nonsense? I look like a washed up homo!”  
“What does a ‘washed up homo’ look like?” Logan asked, innocuously munching on cornflakes. “I think it suits you, daddy.”  
His father turned to him, glaring. “What did you do?”  
Logan frowned. “How could I have done anything?” he asked. “I’ve been eating breakfast since I woke up.”  
And for once, Logan was thankful his father was as stupid as he was as he turned back to his cornflakes and watched his parents continue to argue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the note before didn't quite cut how sorry i am that this fic died a bit I panicked when i realised ppl were reading it and then uni came up and,,, anyway enough excuses im gonna figure this whole thing out no more excuses oof


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scheming minds and conniving children develop the perfect plan of attack, and Logan learns a little something about family.

Patton was adamant this would be a good idea. Logan had other opinions, but in actuality, he was just excited to have another opportunity to stay away from home. He’d been too afraid to return to the library since getting in trouble. He didn’t want his father to get angry again, and would have done anything to avoid the terrifying reality that he would have to admit to Emile, who had trusted him so much, that he had broken a book. He knew he would have to eventually - it was already overdue - but it was such a terrifying thought that avoiding it seemed like a far better option.  
“I can’t wait for you all to sleep over at my house! It’ll be so much fun!” Patton insisted with an air of enthusiasm.  
In reality, Logan was shocked to the core that his parents had agreed. It was so unlike them, but when they’d received a call from Patton’s father, the reply had been completely unexpected. He was watching the clock slowly tick by to the end of class. All four of them had brought an extra bag to school with them, and it made everything seem more real to them. Logan had never been to a sleepover before. He hoped he wouldn’t be too awkward. He hoped Patton’s family weren’t going to fight too loudly.  
His heart beat more rapidly with every second.  
The final bell rang, and Patton turned into the four of them with excitement apparent on his face.  
“Who’s ready for the greatest birthday party ever!?” He asked. “Come on, come on! We gotta meet my dad! Hurry up Virgil!”  
Virgil begrudgingly packed his coat into his backpack and Patton led the four of them excitedly out to the playground.  
“Papa said he’d be waiting for us in the playground!” Patton was half sprinting, held back only by the uncertain and timid approaches of Virgil and Logan.  
They glanced at each other and pushed through the doors into the playground.  
“Papa!” Patton exclaimed and ran into the arms of someone Logan observed to be eerily familiar.  
“M-mister Picani?” His jaw dropped comically as he took a step back. “Y-you’re Patton’s father?”  
Emile turned to him, beaming. “Logan! Long time no see!” He greeted. “And you must be Roman,” he turned to the bold child who was holding hands with Patton. “And you must be Virgil!” His voice lowered slightly as he greeted Virgil. “I’ve heard so much about all of you.”  
“You know Logan?” Patton asked, a glimmer of admiration in his eye.  
Emile nodded. “He used to come down to the library every day, didn’t you, Logan?”  
Logan glanced up at him, too nervous to talk. “Y-yes,” he replied. He didn’t know how to explain to him about the book. He didn’t want to get in trouble.  
Emile glanced at him with concern in his eyes. “Is something wrong?”  
“No, sir,” Logan shook his head slowly.  
Emile frowned down at the tiny boy in front of him, and placed his hand on his back gently. “Come on. We should try to get home before you kiddos are hungry,” he insisted, pushing Logan forward a little bit. Logan nodded and followed the others. Towards Patton’s house.

Sleepovers, as it turned out, were _fun_! Patton brought them inside and everything was set up for them to watch movies in their pyjamas and eat pizza and cake and do all sorts of fun things! There was chatter and laughter and jokes and all sorts of movies Logan had never seen before! Not only all of that, but Patton had a pet parrot! It was a red macaw and its name was Harold and he had taught it to speak English. It was fascinating. Logan engaged with the bird in conversation for far too long than he should care to admit.  
But all too soon it was bed time, and Emile bid all of them goodnight and turned off the light. Logan would have been happy to quietly go to sleep, his belly more full than it had been for as long as he could remember and his head full of memories of his best friends spending time together, but evidently, that wasn’t what everyone else had in mind.  
“Are you guys still awake?” Patton whispered into the darkness after a few moments of silence punctuated only by the breathing of his fellow children.  
“Of course we are, Patton,” Logan replied, matching Patton’s dramatic whisper. “It’s been barely a minute since Emile left.”  
“Virgil?” Roman’s voice asked.  
A small grunt was heard from Virgil’s bed, which was received as a yes.  
“What are we gonna do about Miss Trunchbull?” Patton asked, his voice full of intrigue. “Does anyone have a plan yet?”  
It took Logan six seconds of silence to realise they were all expecting him to answer. “Well, I… I have insufficient information on Miss Trunchbull to formulate an adequate technique.”  
“How long do you need, specs?” Roman whined. “I bet I could come up with a brilliant plan right now on the spot.”  
Another beat passed before Virgil spoke up, a husky voice prompting, “well?”  
“What, you mean right now?” Roman asked. “Well I hardly think that’s an appropriate amount of time. I need to have ideas.”  
Logan blinked in the darkness. “That kinda contradicts-”  
“Newt in her water jug!” Patton interrupted, his voice creeping louder. A floorboards squeaked nearby and the four of them fell dead silent until the threat had passed.  
“Newt… in her… water jug?” Logan asked. “I’m afraid I don’t follow. Why would that-”  
“Oh that’s _brilliant_ , Patton!” Roman agreed. “Next time she comes around to teach us PE one of us can go and offer her water and put a newt in the water and then… and then she’ll be so shocked when she finds it it’ll really show HER!”  
“Don’t you think we could come up with a better plan if we took the time to explore, and to investigate her?” Logan asked.  
“No, this is perfect,” Roman insisted. And Logan shrugged. He supposed they knew more about pranks than he did.  
Once the others had gone to sleep, Logan found his mind racing so fast. He wondered if Emile remembered the book Logan had lost. He was being so kind to him. He thought that maybe he had forgotten about it. But that was okay. He had a plan to fix it. All he’d need is some superglue and a whole lotta patience, something he had developed in droves. How hard could it be to piece a book back together? He’d done puzzles before. Surely it would be just like that, right?  
“Logan?” Patton’s voice whispered, cutting through the otherwise silent bedroom.  
“Yes?” Logan responded after a moment of confusion. He hadn’t realised Patton was awake still.  
He felt movement from the side of the bed where Patton was lying and felt a small figure crawling along the mattress to lay beside him. “You’re thinking too loud,” Patton muttered. “It must make you tired.”  
Logan was taken aback. “How does one… t _hink too loud_?”  
“Your little kid brain needs to rest,” Patton replied. “That’s what my Pa says. Little kid brains need to rest so we have enough en-ge-ry to play the next day.”  
“So why aren’t you asleep?” Logan remarked. He had to admit, Patton’s concern was touching, at the very least. He hadn’t had anyone… care enough to tell him to sleep before.  
“‘Cause _you’re_ thinking too loud,” Patton replied, as though it was obvious. “And my Pa always gives me a big hug when I’m thinking too loud, and since your Pa isn’t here, I thought I should help.”  
And Logan barely had time to process the offer before small arms were enveloping him in a hug. He stiffened for a moment, unsure of how to respond, but his panic subsided after a moment and he breathed out, putting his… loud thoughts to rest.  
“You should rest your little kid brain,” Patton mumbled. “No matter how smart you are, you’re still a kid.”  
And Logan followed Patton’s advice, closing his eyes and pushing whatever thoughts were plaguing him away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be honest, I just wanted to give hte boye a break. Also, it felt like a good time to introduce him to uhhhhh some healthy family dynamics, if u know what i mean. sleepover time with the boys = perfect time for prank planning.  
> This plot is actually going somewhere and I can't imagine I'll be able to stretch it out much longer, so alas I have no clue how much longer this will be, but rest assured, its heading towards a close I'd imagine.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Logan discovers the reality behind one of the more prolific punishments of The Bull; Patton sees red.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pacing's a little weird here but i kinda??? Like it maybe??? it matches the pacing of the movie in this circumstance and i feel like any one of these things being drawn out much longer would feel like too much??  
> uhhh its for sure a particularly famous part of Matilda but just in case there's some more actual child abuse in here from Trunchbull so be cautious folks!! Enjoy !!

With the perfect plan set, it became simply a waiting game. The newt swam unassumingly in its tank at the back of their classroom, and the four of them waited with bated breath for their perfect moment to strike.

Logan and Patton were waiting outside their classroom before school when The Bull stormed into the hallway, a phone pressed to her ear.

“I give you _everything_ you have, and _this_ is what I get in return?” Her voice boomed through the corridor, causing every child in its radius to curl up slightly tighter in on themselves as they hoped to not be seen. “You’ve crossed me for the last time, you petulant little worm! You’ve made a powerful enemy, and you _best be assured_ I will be making good of that threat.”

Her phone call ended with the sound of crushing glass and the students watched in abject horror as her fist curled around a gnarled and crushed phone.

Without a moment of hesitation, her stern gaze rested on Logan, who had taken to staring absently at his shoes.

“ _Wormwood!”_ She shrieked, storming up to him and holding him firmly by the ear. “Care to explain _embezzlement_ to the class?”

Logan squirmed in her grip, his heart pounding in his head. “Why?” He breathed out in panic, glancing desperately to Patton, who seemed at a loss for what to do.

“Just tell us, maggot,” she insisted, twisting his ear around his head and pulling him from the floor. His head screamed in pain which he bit back.

“It’s… it’s th-theft or misappropriation of f-funds placed in one's trust or belonging to one's employer,” he recited as quickly as he could. “Please may you put me down, Ma’am?”

The Bull laughed. “You think you’re so _clever_ , don’t you, you little _piss-worm_?”

“I-I don’t understand what you want.”

“A few hours in the _C_ _hokey_ will set you straight,” she hissed.

Logan could barely stammer out a response as he was marched along the corridor in front of the lines of dazed students, The Bull letting out a string of insults at every second.

“You’re just like your father,” she spat, arriving at the small box Logan had come to know as the Chokey. He had never been this close to it before. The fear he felt was palpable as the dreaded device came within his view. “You’re a liar and a cheat and a thieving idiot.”

“My father?” Logan asked quietly. Miss Trunchbull ignored him as she threw him into the box.

“You’ll never amount to anything significant in this world,” she decried. “You’re a lousy, lazy, stupid _idiot maggot,_ and thats all you’ll ever be!”

The door was slammed in his face and Logan let out a small cry of discomfort. He didn’t know what had happened. He wasn’t aware that he’d done anything wrong.

 

The Chokey was a dark, horrible little prison. He felt an itch in his leg that he daren’t lean down and scratch for the fear of the spikes. The walls seemed to loom so close to him, making him feel claustrophobic and afraid. He hardly cared to breathe, with the fear that the movement of his chest would push him into the spikes. He stood, silent and afraid, and waited.

~~~

Patton’s eyes were wide with fear as he watched his friend being taken away. He had tried to think of anything to do, but his mind had blanked. He felt useless. He knew Logan would have been able to think of a solution, were it him. The sounds of the Bull screaming faded out and the hallway seemed to come back to life, but Patton felt a weight in his chest as he thought of Logan, alone and afraid in the Chokey.

“Come inside, everyone, I have important news for you,” Mr Sanders opened the door and quietly ushered the students in. Everyone diligently took their seats and Mr Sanders stood at the front of the class, his face grim. “Today, you will have a lesson with Miss Trunchbull,” he explained. “Now you all know the drill. Miss Trunchbull is not like me. You must be quiet and thoughtful, and not speak unless spoken to. We will need someone to fetch her water when she enters the classroom, and you must absolutely never ever speak back to her. Do you understand?”

Patton watched his face scan the room, resting on the empty seat beside Virgil, who had arrived looking rather tired and seemed to have barely grasped the concept of the morning.

It was barely a second before the door burst open and the menacing figure of Miss Trunchbull stood there, a cruel snarl stretched across her face.

Patton felt anger flow through his body. He rarely dealt in anger. His Pa and him had worked on ways to manage it. He rarely became so unceasingly angry. But when he saw her face, the blind rage that built up inside him rose to the surface, and he gritted his teeth.

“Is anyone gonna get me water?” Miss Trunchbull asked before stepping into the room.

Patton nodded harshly before standing up and walking to the back of the classroom. This was where they kept their taps, and their jugs, and also their newt. He didn’t hold back for a second as he waltzed up to the animal, placed it in the water jug, and filled it up to the top.

The creature swam unassumingly in the mug. Patton would swear it looked up at him, almost knowingly, but their interaction was cut short by his fetching of a plastic cup and his return of the water to Miss Trunchbull.

Instantly, she launched into a lecture. Something about her authority over the school and children being utterly useless in every sense of the word. Patton got distracted by Mr Sanders who was trying to get his attention subtly behind Miss Trunchbull’s back.

“Where’s Logan?” He mouthed, gesturing to the empty seat. Patton felt his heart sink.

He looked back at Mr Sanders and mimed his hands around his throat. He watched Mr Sanders’ face pale as he turned back to Miss Trunchbull, her loud voice filling the room with the imminent sense of dread Patton had felt since he’d watched Logan be pulled away. He locked eyes with Roman across the room and hoped that it would work out in their favour.

~~~

Logan shivered numbly. His arms had scraped up against some of the nails poking out of the sides and a cool breeze had begun to rattle the small box. He had no concept of how long it had been. He gripped onto the bottom of his shirt, trying to calm the rising panic that had been coming in a series of waves ever since he had first been locked inside the Chokey.

All at once, the door swung open, letting sunlight pour back onto him and provide him with the air his brain finally realised it had been deprived of. In front of him stood the pale figure of Mr Sanders, who smiled in relief at the sight of the small boy.

Logan, not usually one for hugging, found himself unable to complain as he was safely scooped into his teachers arms. He realised, perhaps too late, that he was shaking.

“Are you okay?” Mr Sanders asked him quietly, his arms wrapped around Logan’s tiny figure.

“I am now,” Logan replied quietly.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Impossible things can happen, if one brilliant mind wills them to

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was rly putting off writing this chapter but as soon as I got into it I was FEELING it so enjoy possibly my favourite chapter to write so far

Returning to class, for Logan, was a surreal blend of emotions. He faltered at the sight of Miss Trunchbull, standing at the front of the classroom and lecturing a frightened looking class of children. He glanced to his friends, hoping none of them had gone through the terror of what he just had, and noticed with some relief that they were all still there.

Miss Trunchbull began to stalk around the room. She was calling upon students to recite spelling words to her. Logan silently thanked Mr Sanders for teaching all of them their spelling words and returned to his desk, slipping in just out of sight of Miss Trunchbull.

As she prowled the room like a shark circling its prey, he caught a glimpse of movement in the jug sitting on her desk. There, swimming around inside it, was a small newt. He hid his smile behind his hands as Miss Trunchbull stopped circling the room.

“Mr Prince,” she snapped, and Logan’s attention was caught by Roman, who’s face had gone white at being called on. He stood obediently at his desk. “What do you think is the most _difficult_ word you worms can spell?”

Roman, not known for his spelling prowess, paused. “Mr Sanders taught us to spell difficulty,” he replied.

“ _Difficulty,”_ The Bull spat. “As if any of _you_ can spell _difficulty.”_

Roman stared straight ahead, not daring to make eye contact with the principal. “We can,” he insisted. “Mr Sanders taught us a poem to do it. Mrs D, Mrs I, Mrs F-F-I. Mrs C, Mrs U, Mrs L-T-Y. Difficulty.”

Miss Trunchbull blinked. “Well,” she started. “ _Naturally_ all these women are married, isn’t that right, _Mr Sanders.”_ She whipped her head around to Mr Sanders at the front of the class and returned to her desk, pouring herself a jug of water. She didn’t seem to notice the sound of a newt falling into her glass, and nor did she notice the aforementioned newt swimming peacefully around inside her water glass.

But the students did. Fits of giggles emerged as she raised her water glass to her lips, ready to take a long sip of water.

She looked up, peering around the room with a madness in her eye. “What’s so funny?”

When no students answered, she drew in a long sigh. “One day, oh one day, there’ll be no Godforsaken children on this earth. On that day, I will finally know peace.”

And she drank from her glass of water.

And drank.

And drank.

Until she pulled the glass from her mouth, and Patton, red-faced with suppressed laughter, couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“Look at your _cup_ Miss!” He giggled.

And Miss Trunchbull did. She glanced into the glass in her hand, finally solving the mystery of what was _so_ funny.

And she screamed.

“A _SNAKE!”_ She screeched, slamming the cup, and the poor newt inside it, onto the desk. “THERE’S A _SNAKE_ IN MY DRINK!”

Every student in the class was laughing uncontrollably as she dramatically gagged and choked on her water.

“ _Which_ one of you maggots is trying to _kill me_ with a _snake?”_

“It’s a newt,” came the familiar voice of Logan Wormwood from the back of a classroom.

Miss Trunchbull gazed up with daggers in her eyes. _“Excuse me?”_

Logan was unfazed by her expression. “It’s not a snake. It’s a newt. They’re salamander in the subfamily Pleurodelinae. Semi-aquatic. Not a snake.”

Miss Trunchbull reared, standing up.

“Why, you _insolent_ little _know-it-all,”_ she hissed. “One day you’re going to face a problem that even _you_ can’t solve, you gibbering, blithering _no good little bookworm_.”

Students had turned to face him, their faces white at the consideration of facing the full force of Miss Trunchbull’s rage. The words reached his ears, each second louder than the other. Every shouted word he’d heard in his life blurred together in that moment, reaching a cacophonous, grandiose, chorus.

And then, it stopped. Everything around him fell silent.

He could still see everything around him. Miss Trunchbull, shouting whatever came into her mind at him, Mr Sanders trying desperately to calm her down, Virgil beside him, white faced, trying as best as he could to hide from the anger.

But Logan was far away, staring intently at the glass just treading the edge of the desk, threatening to topple at any moment.

_Fall over_. He chewed his lip as he furrowed his brow. He had no idea if this would even work. His only assessment had been in a panic. Anything could have caused that fire alarm to go off. In fact, even the suggestion that it was _him,_ somehow, was preposterous. This kind of thing wasn’t possible. It simply wasn’t.

And yet, as harsh words from the mouth of Miss Trunchbull failed to pierce him, and he felt himself heat up, feeing far hotter than a human being should, and building up… something, inside him, he felt that, maybe, it wasn’t so farfetched.

 

And in that moment, that impossible moment, when little boys can make impossible things that should never be able to happen happen, the glass fell over.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of the incident with Miss Trunchbull, Logan discusses impossible things with the only adult he's ever trusted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am back from my holiday folks! Very sorry I genuinely wanted to try and keep updating throughout the Christmas holidays but I had no time because I was spending time with family. But here I am. I'm back and keen to get back into this story! Bit of a shorter chapter this time, but it didn't quite fit at the end of the last chapter, and the next one would be super long if it had this so what can u do

 

Class was dismissed quickly as Miss Trunchbull, traumatised and despondent, had a newt flip-flapping around on her lap. She’d at first turned to blame students, insisting that _one_ of them was behind this, but as Mr Sanders had pointed out, _“Nothing but our old friend gravity could have made it fall off the desk”_.

And she’d left in a huff, her leg still trying to shake out the distant memory of a newt.

Patton ran to the front of the class to rescue the newt and return him to his aquarium, apologising profusely to the animal, who seemed ultimately unbothered by the ordeal, and the class had disbanded for an early mark to recess, with whispering and giggling still ghosting the lips of the children.

 

At the end of the day, the chaos of the day had mostly died down, with only a few murmurs and snickers to be found and students faced down the newt. But once everyone had left, Logan didn’t move.

“Logan?” Mr Sanders prompted. “Did you not hear the bell? You can go home!”

Logan blinked, still trying to form the words needed to describe what had happened.

Mr Sanders walked up to his desk, kneeling in front of it. “Are you okay, Logan?”

“Are impossible things possible?” he blurted, his head reeling.

Mr Sanders frowned. “I’m afraid that would depend on the impossible thing,” he replied. “What’s eating at ya?”

“Nothing is eating me,” Logan replied clearly. “I don’t understand the question.”

Mr Sanders smiled fondly. “What’s bothering you?” he amended. “You look like you’re pondering something real hard.”

Logan chewed on his lip. “When… Miss Trunchbull said the glass falling must have been our fault,” he started. “Could she have… been right?”

Mr Sanders cocked his head sideways. “Don’t worry about her,” he insisted. “She would blame anyone if it meant she was able to yell at someone. It wasn’t your fault, and you needn’t feel guilty about anything.”

Logan shook his head, as though trying to clear it. “No, not like that!” He insisted. “I… How…” He paused for a moment,squinting his eyes shut. Mr Sanders was about to reach out and place and arm on his shoulder when he opened his eyes. “Can I show you something?”

Mr Sanders’ eyes widened. “That would, uh, depend on the something.”

Logan stood up quickly and rushed to the back of the classroom, where Miss Trunchbull’s glass had been dried and put away again, and placed it on the desk, right where it had fallen off earlier that very day.

“Logan I don’t think I… understand-” Mr Sanders began in protest but was cut off by tiny arms leading him to the side of the classroom, in optimal viewing position for the glass. Logan moved to his desk, and the room ran cold for just a moment as the tiny boy stared intently at the glass.

Which wobbled dangerously, pushed by seemingly nothing, and fell onto the ground with a dull _thunk_.

“Do you understand it now?” Logan asked. “I _did_ that. I told it to move. I told it to topple. And it _did.”_ Logan sighed. “I didn’t think it was possible. I thought that, maybe, after the fire alarm went off, there could be a tiny… an infinitesimal possibility that somehow the displacement of the particles that are created in the quantum superposition of processing coherent thoughts… somehow move things across the room without any physical touch influencing it…” he faltered, shaking his head. “No. That doesn’t make sense. Ignore that. I just… I don’t _understand.”_

Mr Sanders was still wide-eyed from the display of telekinesis Logan had entrusted him with. If he was honest, his grasp of physics, while not unremarkable, hardly covered particle displacement and quantum superposition. “You are a… remarkable child, Logan Wormwood.”

Logan stopped his barely-intelligible mumbling at that. “I… What?”

If there was anything that could make Mr Sanders feel the unbearable urge to protect a child from anything that may harm him, it was those words accompanied by the face of genuine surprise that Logan was looking at him with. And so, he did something possibly skirting the standard practice, something just on the edge of legal. If anyone could make him take such an uncouth direction in his life it was Logan Wormwood, with the mind of a genius packed into such a small frame.

“Would you like to come to my house this afternoon, Logan?” He asked, knowing with every word how easily this could go wrong. “Of course, only if your parents wont miss you and if you have the time to. I just think it would give us somewhere to discuss this ability of yours.”

Logan didn’t even hesitate before he nodded his head. “Yes,” he replied. “I would like that very much.”

And the small young boy and his teacher cleaned up the glass and made their way from the school, hand in hand.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Logan learns about how allies can be found anywhere, if only one reaches out to find them.

Mr Sanders’ house was a small home a fair way from the school, standing defiantly upon a dirt path. The outside was painstakingly painted in bright colours to resemble a storybook, and the surrounding area had been decorated with a bed of flowers and herbs growing out of small boxes around it.

Though Logan could see the effort that had been put into decorating and presenting the small home and the surrounding areas, some things were hard to ignore. The tin roof, somewhat haphazardly lain down atop the house seemed rickety and old, and rust seemed to spread like algae across the painted brick walls. The garden, though quaint, was overgrown and unkempt in a way Logan, who had lived in one neighbourhood his whole life, had never seen before. The door squeaked as Mr Sanders opened it, revealing to Logan a small living room space, with a single table placed in the middle with an old chair placed on one side, and a milk carton placed on the other side. Logan took a tentative step inside, taking in the space. The kitchen was attached to the living room, with a worn down fridge standing amid pots and pans placed in dusty shelves. A wooden crate near the chair by the table contained piles of books. Many of them, Logan recognised, with names like Agatha Christie and Hermann Melville standing out to him. It took him a moment to realise Mr Sanders was waiting for him to speak.

“You… live here?”

Mr Sanders looked around the room, his eyes scanning all of the features Logan had noticed, and he nodded. “Yes,” he replied. “It’s a good space. I can sit right there to read while I wait for my tea to boil, I grow my own vegetables and herbs, which cuts down on grocery shopping, and I have just enough space to live a peaceful life.”

“You don’t have a TV?” Logan asked.

Mr Sanders shook his head. “I have no need for a television. Why would I waste my time on that?”

Logan paused for a second, wrinkling his forehead as he considered the evidence. He chewed his lip for a moment before looking up at Mr Sanders.

“Are you poor?”

Mr Sanders smiled and gestured towards the chair in the room. Logan caught on and sat down on the chair, his tiny legs barely touching the floor, as Mr Sanders sat down on the milk carton on the other side of the table.

“I understand that it must look to you like I have… very few things in this house,” Mr Sanders looked around. “But you need not worry, Logan. I have everything I could need right here. Shelter, a kitchen, books and somewhere to read them, somewhere to lay my head at night. There’s nothing more this world could give me to fulfil my life.”

Logan looked around for a moment. His eyes scanned the shelves, devoid of pictures and trinkets, at the single bedroom, at the lack of a sofa or any shared spaces. “What about your family?”

Mr Sanders went quiet, and glanced out the window for a moment. “Sometimes, Logan,” he mumbled. “You’re better off without a family. Certain circumstances come about, and you find yourself unable to… reinstate your familial relationship.” He shot a cursory glance towards the young boy. “Hopefully, you will never understand that side of the world.”

Logan glanced down at the table. “Hopefully,” he agreed quietly. The two of them considered for a moment. There was a lot to consider. Eventually, Logan broke the air.

“But… you do have friends, right? Like- like I have Virgil and Roman and Patton! I don’t understand the things they’re talking about most of the time, and I suspect they would say the same of me, but they feel good to be around. You have friends, right?”

Mr Sanders smiled to himself gently. “I have friends, Logan,” he insisted. “I have friends in my coworkers and neighbours. I have friends in your classmates, as you come into class every day with a new piece of information and a steely determination to learn. I believe you’re acquainted with Emile Picani? He’s also one of my close friends.”

“You’re friends with Patton’s Pa?” Logan clocked his head sideways. “Has he… mentioned me before?”

Mr Sanders considered a moment. “I believe he has.”

Logan blinked. “You _believe_ he does? What does that mean? He hasn’t said anything bad, has he?”

“Before you came to school, he was telling me with delight about the young boy who came to visit him every day, finishing novel after novel at a speed he’d never seen before, even in adults. A young boy with such a strong spark of intellect in his little head that Emile almost didn’t know what to do. Does that sound familiar?”

Logan blushed, puckering his face to try and avoid smiling. “You… you believe that was me? With a ‘spark of intellect’ hitherto unseen?”

Mr Sanders laughed for a moment. “No other child your age has ever used the word ‘hitherto’. Trust me, it’s you.”

Logan was dazed. So dazed, in fact, that as Mr Sanders offered to walk him home, he was almost out the door before remembering the important thing he’d meant to do that day.

“Oh! Before I go, do you have any glue I can borrow?”

Mr Sanders, though confused, elected to not ask questions, fetching the child some glue.

“Now, it’s very strong. I would advise you to try and use it only with adult supervision.”

Logan nodded. “I will,” he replied, lying.

Mr Sanders, unconcerned with the obvious falsehood, grinned, and began to walk the child home as the sun set overhead. Full of warm tea and intellectual discussion, Logan felt more at peace with his surroundings than he suspected he ever had. His hands gripped Mr Sanders’ tightly and he smiled as he planned his next move carefully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit softer, more fluffy. Just wanted that sick Mr Sanders and little Logan Wormwood moments bc I cherish these two with my life. Conclusions actually... coming up i believe. Not too soon, but theres only a few more important scenes before the climax will come into play so like, uhhhh stay tuned I guess

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn't going to post this yet because the thought of committing to posting a multi-chapter story rly ruffles my jimmies, but I genuinely really love this AU and I WANT to finish it, and what better way to motivate myself than the thought of disappointing all the kind folk who read it? I really hope you enjoy, and if you want me to keep posting, literally feel free to straight up harass me in the comments here or over on @princessdarth-vader on tumblr. I rly wanna finish this story, and to battle my ADHD hell brain, im gonna need ur help.


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